American Opportunities
by Slingshot
Summary: The story of a group of immigrants to America, mostly historically accurate. Already in America are the Newsies. But 2 years after the strike has changed things, and not for the better.
1. Chapter 1

A lone girl wandered down the cobblestone streets, not sure where to go. Over her shoulder hung a burlap bag, small and worn, holding nothing, but there in case she found something. In the distance she heard laughing from a pub, one of the few buildings in Belfast, Ireland, with candles still lit this late. As she walked closer, the laughing gradually changed to angry words, insults thrown out in both Gaelic and English. Just close enough to see the door open, an average size body was little more than tossed outside, landing on its backside, only to jump to its feet and yell insults back. The door slammed shut in its face, leaving a few men outside, taking sides for the inevidable fight. Blinking in the sudden darkness to see, the girl raised an eyebrow. "Da?"  
  
Ben McDonaghey looked up to see his daughter. "Lute...I didn't know you would be here. What're you doing out this late?"  
  
"Just walking," Lute shrugged. "And thinking."  
  
Ben took the few steps it was to reach Lute. "Thinking again?" He laughed and embraced her. "Well, I must be a very lucky man to have a thinker for a daughter."  
  
Glancing sideways at the pub, Lute had to ask. "When do you close? I mean, I can be home alone, I just like it when you're around better."  
  
"Getting to that..." The door to the pub opened once again and some half-drunken Irishmen walked out.  
  
"Oy, Ben, O'Reilly's gonna be wantin' that apron back!"  
  
Ben looked at his feet. "I'm sorry Lute, I know I needed a job, but I just couldn't stay around a bunch of drunks in and out every day."  
  
The figure that had been thrown out of the pub had sat down during the conversation, only to stand up again now, brushing dirt off its pants. Lute gave a disapproving glance as the figure approached them.   
  
"Look, Mister, it ain't got anything to do wit' da drunks. You jest couldn't pour beer fast enough."   
  
Very surprised, Lute saw that "it" was actually an older teenage girl. And, judging by the accent, wasn't from around Ireland. She looked to Ben, awaiting a reply. He gave no words, just a sigh.  
  
The girl laughed. "Not dat this bloody Irish stuff was any good anyway."  
  
"If you come to Ireland, that's what you're going to get. A bit on the strong side, for an American like you," he said a bit disdainfully.  
  
"America? You're...you're from America?" Lute asked, very surprised.   
  
"Yeah, what's it to ya?" the girl replied, picking up a parcel that had laid at her feet.  
  
"I've dreamed of going to America...opportunities, all the people, open minds..." Lute trailed off with a happy sigh.  
  
"Opportunities depends on who ya are and whatcha can do. Dey ain't set out in front of you on a silver plattah."  
  
Ben glanced between the two girls, both about the same age, same height, but so oddly different. "Speaking of America, Lute, if it is the land of opportunity, it may be wise for us to consider emmigrating. I love this country as much as any Irishman, but there's nowhere left for me to work. A ship leaves next week, headed for New York City. We can go through immi-"  
  
"New Yawk City..." the girl laughed. "Anyt'ings in New Yawk, dey say. Yeah, sure. Dat's why all dem immigrants are livin' in houses of a dozen fam'lies each." She walked back over to the pub, and not expecting to be let in, pulled out some salted meat from the parcel to eat.  
  
"I think I could work there, Lute. I could go ahead, find a job, and send for you."  
  
"No, Da, no! I don't want you to leave me here. I could work in America, too," Lute begged.  
  
"I don't know much about the City though. I'm not so sure about taking you to a foriegn place like that."  
  
"Well, we could find a guide, someone who's been there before. Belfast is big enough, there's got to be someone who's from New York." She paused, thinking for a moment, then glanced at the outer wall of the pub. "In fact," she said, grinning slyly, "I believe American opportunity may have already stumbled into our lives."  
  
Ben and Lute went home that night, leaving the American troublemaker to fend for herself. Theirs was a modest home, a cottage tucked away in the hills outside of Belfast. Ben loved the green of the hills, the clovers that grew there, and the fresh smell of spring, but Lute wanted more. Never having been to a large city, New York sounded thrilling. All Belfast had were ports, ports, and more ports. Sure, interesting people came from time to time, but a real city-London, New York, Paris-those she had heard so much about but quite actually knew nothing about them. She dreamed every night of the city, and very much wished her dream to come true.  
  
"Da," Lute said, while stirring some porridge for breakfast, "I think we should leave for America. We don't need much to pack, and we don't have much as it is. There's nothing for us here."  
  
Ben glanced at her, and continued eating. "I could go, but the city can be dangerous. Would you be safe?"  
  
"That American girl-she would know," Lute replied. "I could go find her today, and we could ask her about New York."  
  
Ben mulled over the idea for a few seconds, taking the time to eat a few more bites. "It wouldn't hurt to question an American about their country. You may go find her, I'll stay her and organize what we would need, and what not."  
  
Lute jumped up, excited, and embraced her father. "Thank you, Da, thank you!"  
  
"Nope. Not goin' back."  
  
Lute sighed, realizing she was getting no where with begging, decided to try a new method. "Well, have you any family left over there?" The American's face, which had been emotionless throughout their whole conversation, changed briefly. So quickly, in fact, that Lute wasn't totally sure she'd seen the change. "Well, do you?"  
  
"I got a brudder..."  
  
"I'm sure he misses you."  
  
"Nah, I ain't seen him in..." she counted on her fingers. "Well, I was thoit-teen...musta been near ta four years."  
  
"Don't you want to see him again?" Lute asked sincerly.  
  
The American frowned. "He left me in da streets. No, I don't want ta see him again!"  
  
Lute was troubled. Would she ever get through to this foreign girl? She glanced up to the sun, which was now setting behind a lush green hill. Twilight was fast approaching, even a blind person would be able to tell. The pubs were starting to get more business. "Well, are you hungry? My Da should be making supper about now, we always love visitors."  
  
Mulling over the idea for a very few seconds, the American thought it wouldn't hurt. She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess dat's fine."  
  
Lute led the girl to their cottage, only about a half mile from where they had been. A light shone through a front window, and curling black smoke rose from the chimney. They entered to be greeted warmly by Ben.   
  
"I'm glad to see that you decided to join us," Ben told the girl as they sat at the table. "Are yeh willing to tell us much about yourself?"  
  
The girl nodded as she served herself some potatoes. "What d'ya wanna know?"  
  
"A name would be nice," Lute said slyly.  
  
"Well..." She cut a peeled potato in half. "My family name is Nicoll. I ain't gonna tell ya my foist name, but most people call me Slingshot. Sling foah short. You're Lute, and you're Ben, right?"  
  
Lute nodded. "You're from New York City, are you not?"  
  
Sling shrugged. "I been dere enough. Act'lly, I lived in dis western territory, New Mexico, most of my life. But New Yawk, it was alright."  
  
Ben looked to Lute, who gave him an excited smile. "We want to leave next week for New York City," Ben said. "Would you recommend that as a wise decision?"  
  
"Only if ya like standin' in lines," Sling answered.  
  
"Whatever do you mean?" Lute asked, bewildered.  
  
"Well, dere's dis place, an island, it's called Ellis Island. All da new imm'grats gotta wait dere until some sorta government officials say you can come to da mainland."  
  
"It can't be too bad," Ben said.  
  
"Nah, it's not dat bad, it jist takes a while. And you bette' be healthy, or else dey ain't gonna letcha t'rough."  
  
Thinking over this new information about immigration, they ate the rest of their dinner quietly. Afterwards, as Sling raised to leave, Lute stopped her.  
  
"Please, stay. You're welcome here. We need a guide in New York City. If it is as huge as you've said it is, I don't think we could get anywhere without some help."  
  
"I ain't goin' back. An' I gots somewhere else ya stay." She picked up a cowboy hat from the floor. "T'anks for da offer, though."  
  
Moments after Slingshot had left, Lute and Ben being done with the dishes, sat down near the fire for Ben to smoke his pipe and talk to his daughter. "Americans...they are a very peculiar people. Did you get much information out of her today?"  
  
"No," Lute replied. "She seems...very resentful."  
  
Ben nodded slowly, and closed his eyes, thinking a moment. "Maybe if we paid her...but we haven't all that much money. Do you know where she's staying?"  
  
"On the streets, or various pubs," Lute replied, disgusted. "Why would she not accept our invitation?"  
  
"The Americans, they like to do things on their own. Especially this one, it seems."  
  
"I will get her to come to New York. There has got to be a way, a soft spot in her somewhere," Lute said, very determined. She yawned. "I'll be off to bed. G'night, Da." 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, and the one after that, and all the way to the day the ship would leave Belfast, Lute tried to find a soft spot in Slingshot. There was nothing but bitterness, resentment, and a downright hate for people. This was the last morning she would try. Lute went to find Sling at her usual morning spot, sitting outside a bar not too far from the docks. Reaching this place quickly, Lute was surprised to see Sling without a bottle of beer in her hand; instead, there was a piece of slightly worn paper, presumably a letter. Lute sat next to Sling, glancing just long enough at the paper to see that it was actually a letter, but not reading anything.  
  
"Who's it from?"   
  
Sling looked up slowly. "You...you were right. I need ta go home. It's time to go back."  
  
Lute's eyes widened, surprised to see such a change overnight. Her curiousity ached to know the contents of the letter, but decided it was best to allow the information to be offered. She stayed silent.  
  
"In New Yawk, I toldja my brudder, he left me dere. Well I got dis job, see, woikin' ta sell papers. I got to be real good friends wit' some a' da other newsies. My best friend...he's sick. Real sick. I shouldn't a' left. I need to go back."  
  
Lute nodded. "Three o'clock. That's what time the ship leaves. Will you be there?"  
  
Sling nodded silently. "I'll show you New York."  
  
The bell on the ship, called the Morning Glory, sounded and rung through the air. It was an exciting sound for all the immigrants traveling to a new land, it was the call of freedom. Ben, Lute, and Slingshot all made their way down to third class. It was dirty and filled with either large families or teenagers, with only a few exceptions. Ben and Lute seached for the cleanest spot they could find, eventually settling down next to a set of hammocks which smelled better than the rest. Slingshot, on the other hand, plopped down near the ladder to the upper decks, even though it seemed the ideal spot for rats. Sling shrugged off that fact when questioned, just saying she was used to it.  
  
This was a new and different experience for Lute. Though she loved her father dearly, she had been a little sheltered growing up and never knew too many people. Looking around, there were a great many interesting people on board. In a corner not too far away sat a dark haired girl, asleep. She gripped a shawl tightely around her shoulders, shivering a little bit in the cool Irish weather. Looking a bit closer, Lute noticed the girl had large hoop earings. Thinking of how different they were, she decided she would have to ask this dark girl about them when she awoke.   
  
Next to her, Ben yawned. The both of them had gotten up very early that morning to make sure everything was packed, and that their house would go to someone who needed it. "I think I'll get wink of sleep, Lute," Ben said, climbing onto the upper hammock. "Wake me if you need anything, or if anyone tries to bother you."  
  
Lute knew what he meant by that. Not just anyone, but if a boy tried to bother her. "I think I'll go talk to Sling, Da. I will be back here later." Ben nodded slightly, already half asleep. Waiting a moment until her father was fast asleep, Lute wound her way through the crowd of bodies to the main ladder. She was slightly surprised to see Sling talking to a boy, a few years older than the two girls were.   
  
"Hey Lute, you find a good spot?" Sling asked casually as Lute approached.   
  
"Yes, even hammocks," Lute replied, eyeing the rather short boy next to Sling.  
  
"Good. Alright, I wantcha ta meet a good friend a' mine, Spot Conlon. He used ta be a newsie too, woikin' around da docks in Brooklyn, dat's part a' New Yawk, but he found hisself a job woikin' as-well act'lly Spot, ya nevah said what you were doin' heah."  
  
Spot coughed and kicked at some of the dirt on the floor. "I woik as a waiter, on da foist class deck. Not da best job, but I'se met some real richies. Most a' dem are really hoity-toity like, y'know. But some a' dem is nice."  
  
"Spot Conlon, waiter. Yeah, dat's t'reatenin'," Sling scoffed, then turned to Lute. "Y'know what da sad thing is? Dis piece a' scum-"  
  
"Hey! I ain't no piece a' scum, I'se respectable!" Spot interrupted.   
  
"I was kiddin'," Sling replied, rolling her grey eyes. "Anyways, as I was sayin' before gettin' so rudely interrupted, he used ta be one a' da top newsies in all of New Yawk. Prob'ly coulda woiked as Pulitzer's mail boy or somethin'. But, he liked da watah..."  
  
Spot shrugged. "I'se liked it since I was a kid. Why d'ya think I woiked da docks?"  
  
Lute smiled, finding the conversation amusing. "Did you swim much?"  
  
Nodding, Spot replied, "Yeah, ev'ry day durin' da summah. Well, except foa' two summahs ago, I missed a couple weeks 'cause I was on strike wit' da rest a' da newsies. It was hot dat yeah too."  
  
"Strike? Newsies on strike?" Lute asked, interested.  
  
"Yeah, long story. Look, Spot, I need ta talk to ya some more, ya free aftah you serve supper to dem rich folk?" Sling asked.  
  
"Sure. As long as dis lovely lady comes wit' ya," Spot said, smiling at Lute.   
  
Sling elbowed him in the gut. "Listen Spot, you might t'ink you'se respectable now, butcha still ain't good enough for a nice goil like Lute. Now, it's a quarter aftah five, you bettah get up dere ta serve some cocktails or somethin'."  
  
Spot glanced at his watch, part of the whole waiters' uniform, and panicked slightly. "Yeah, you'se right, I bettah get goin'. Meet me out on da port deck around seven, I'll brind some food foah ya two."  
  
Sling nodded, and leaned on the ladder as Spot climbed up. Lute looked at her, a troubled look on her face. "What's the matter, Sling?"  
  
Sighing heavily, she replied, "I got some news foah Spot, I jist don't know how ta tell him. I haven't seen him in so long...believe me, it was a surprise ta see him on board. But he was like me brother, always lookin' out for me. It's just...different now."  
  
"It has to do with that letter, doesn't it?" Lute prodded slightly.  
  
Sling nodded, absent-mindedly pulling the paper out of her dirty pants and fingering it. Blinking rapidly as if coming out of a trance, she looked to Lute. "Well, it's at least a week till we get ta New Yawk, we might as well meet some of our fellow passengers. Dere's usually some music bein' played outside, on da deck where we're also gonna meet Spot, we can go look."  
  
"Yes, that sounds good. At least a week to New York?" She repeated, disapointed. "Oh well, it's sooner than I expected a week ago."  
  
The climbed up the splintery wooden ladder, careful to avoid getting too many splinters. Sling lead the way towards what she called port side; Lute figured out that it was the left side of the ship. She could here some Irish jigs being played, not too far away. A wave of relaxation passed over Lute, hearing something familiar, something from her homeland, comforted her. Bumping into someone, she looked up into a pair of hazel eyes quickly. "I'm sorry! I didn't see you!"  
  
"That's alright," the girl responded, with a British accent. "I should have been more careful."  
  
Lute, wanting to be friendly, smiled. "Name's Lute McDonaghey, I'm headed for New York. And yourself?"  
  
"Chelsea, though my friends call me Whisper. I suppose that is because I don't fancy being loud and noisy. I, too, am headed for America. Have you heard much about it?"  
  
"Not really. I am traveling with an American-" Lute stopped, and glanced around, noticing that Sling had gone off somewhere on he own. "But I haven't really found out all that much, only that we will spend a few days in immigration. The American, she's nice, but I do hope not all Americans are like her. A little too much alcohol to please me."  
  
"I would think that you would be used to that, being Irish." Whisper laughed lightly at her own joke, Lute only smiling slightly. "Well, I'd best be on my way, though we will probably see each other again on this voyage."  
  
Lute nodded. "Nice to meet you," and walked towards the small selection of instruments playing "Blow the Man Down". Taking a seat, she looked at the girl sitting next to her, who was singing along.  
  
"Singing hey-hey-blow the man down. And please pay attention and listen to me, give us some time, to blow the man down!" The girl clapped along with others as the song ended, pleased by the music. She chatted for a moment with a dark girl sitting to her right, then turned to her left, to Lute. "Hello, do you happen to be from Scotland?" she asked, in a Scottish accent.  
  
Lute shook her head. "No, I'm Irish. Why?"  
  
"No reason, really, I just like to know where people are from. This one here," she said, nodding to her right, "Is from Germany. Lots of interesting people on this ship."  
  
"Yes, there are...um, what is your name?"  
  
"Charlotte Blackette, a Scot soon to be American."  
  
Lute introduced herself, and the dark-haired girl introduced herself in broken English as Jemima Eztabah. The threesome talked about the few-known facts of America they had heard, and sang along to the songs they knew. A few songs later, an Asian plopped down next to Jemima.   
  
"Charlotte, is there food today?" She asked, in an accent Lute didn't recognize.  
  
Shrugging, Charlotte replied, "If we get lucky. How are your English studies coming?"  
  
The Asian girl held up a small tablet, where the English alphabet was scrawled. "Good?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, very good. Lute, meet Krystal Mai, our Vietnamese friend. She's a lone traveler, like myself, so we kind of partnered up so I could teach her English. It's coming along nicely, Krystal."  
  
Lute smiled, she had never met an Asian before. "You sound like you've known English a long time. Are you just now learning?"  
  
Krystal nodded. "Char says I do good most days."  
  
"Do well," Charlotte replied absent-mindedly.  
  
Lute was starting to feel comfortable when Sling appeared again. "Hey Lute, ya hungry? We're s'pposed ta meet Spot in jist a few minutes," she said, glancing at the other two other girls. Jemmy had left to eat with her brother already.  
  
Lute, suddenly akward and aware of growling stomachs, nodded. "Well, can Charlotte and Krystal come, I mean, will Spot be okay with that?"  
  
Sling laughed. "Spot will be t'rilled. He loves bein' surrounded by goils, and you three will make him very happy. Go ovah by da lamp, see, and I'll go up to da kitchen and get Spot ta bring moah food. We should be down in jist a few minutes."  
  
Lute nodded, and the three girls replocated to the lamp post, waiting anxiously for some food.   
  
Soon enough the laughing of the two friends carrying food was heard. Spot was seen first, his white tuxedo shirt half unbuttoned and untucked, since he was off duty. He carried two baskets, steam still coming out of the top of one of them. Slingshot was close behind, carrying plates, forks, and cups all balanced. Spot grinned as he saw the two extra girls. "Well, well, well...looks like we'se gonna have moah fun den I t'ought!"  
  
"Knock it off Spot, we're all heah foah dinner and dat's it," Sling said, shoving him lightly as they set down their burdens.   
  
Spot frowned. "Aw, c'mon, don't I get a t'anks foah all dis food? And how 'bout some introductions, huh?  
  
Lute stood and spoke in an even tone. "This is Charlotte, from Scotland, and Krystal, from Vietnam."  
  
Pretending to be a gentleman, Spot took each one of the girls' hands and kissed in gently. "An honah ta meetcha," he said to Krystal.  
  
She smiled and nodded. "Your name?" she asked.  
  
"Spot Conlon, at your soivice," he replied. "I'se starved aftah watchin' all dem richies eat, so lets get out some a' dis food."  
  
Krystal and Charlotte couldn't be happier. They had emmigrated alone, and had run out of their own food supply. Charlotte had confessed earlier to Lute that they hadn't eaten in two days. Sling handed plates and forks to the others, while Spot pulled out chicken, rolls, and carrots, all still warm and delicious looking. The five teenagers ate until no more was left, for they were all very hungry. Little discussion was made, they had to eat quickly before the food got cold.   
  
Sling had finished first, not eating much more than a few rolls. She was usually content with a bottle of alcohol. Waiting patiently for the others to finish, she talked first when they were finally done. "Spot, I'm glad ya wanted ta have dinnah, 'cause I knew you were woikin' on a ship somewheah, jist not where. Anyway, I kinda got some serious news..." she trailed off, slightly uncomfortable under the watch of others. Pulling the letter out of the back pocket of her brown pants, she handed it to Spot.  
  
Watching Slingshot, Spot was confused. She was usually very open and honest about everything, not timid like this. He had known her for almost five years, and in that time they had become very close, like brother and sister. This was definatly not like her usual behaviour. He took the letter and, carefully unfolding it, stood up to be closer to the light to read it.  
  
Dear Slingshot,  
  
I hope you get this letter, I have been trying to reach you for months, and heard that you might be in Belfast. Don't drink to much over there, I hear the Irish are a bunch of drunks. Well, here in New York things have changed since you left. Spot isn't in Brooklyn anymore, he's working on some ship.  
  
Spot smiled as he read about himself, he always enjoyed hearing about himself no matter what the subject.  
  
Dutchy has gone back to Germany, and Blink is working as a cobbler, he's apprenticed here in New York.  
  
But that is not the real point of this letter. You need to come back. Your brother-he came looking for you, and is staying with the newsies for a couple of months, hoping that you get this and will return. That is the good news, good if you want to see him anyway. But I have some bad news. Jack isn't doing so well...he caught some sort of disease or something and he's really sick. He wants to see you, and if you happen to run across Spot at on of the docks in Belfast, him too.It's really bad, Jack even turned over being the leader to Race (I'm doing a good job) and can't walk much anymore. Come back quick, no one knows how much time you have. We've all been sick before, but not like this. Please come home.  
  
Sincerly,  
  
Mush and Race  
  
Reading it twice to make sure he hadn't missed anything, Spot looked up. "Wonder wheah dey got a typewritah," was all he said.  
  
Sling rolled her eyes. "Spot, please! You have to get off the ship in New York. We gotta see Jack!"  
  
"An' your brudder?" Spot asked cautiously.  
  
Lute looked up at this. Sling had told her how she hated her brother for what he did to her. The name, Jack, was mentioned now, she assumed that was the sick friend. She looked to Sling.  
  
"My brother..." Sling said slowly. She paused, then her eyes flashed a look of pure hatred. "I ain't got a brother anymore. Mine died, as far as I'm concoined." She rose, grabbed the bottle of beer that had sat next to her, and walked off.  
  
Spot sighed and looked at the three girls still there. "Sorry 'bout Sling...she was hoit pretty bad by her brudder, but she don't like the whole concept of emotions. Says it gets in da way of thinkin' straight." He shrugged, not sure what to say. "It's da foist time in a real long time she's hoid anythin' about him...it's gotta be tough. She'll be back to her bright self by morin', though. So what about you three? Ireland...been dere, Scotland...been dere...Vietnam? Hoid of it once."  
  
Krystal grinned. "Not many people been there. My family, there are still there. It can be nice. But it rains half the year, too hot other half."  
  
"New Yawk can git pretty hot at time too, and rainy, and snowy, I guess it jist depends on da time a' year. It's only Novembah now, so it ain't gonna be dat cold, not compard ta January, but it'll be prolly as cold as Belfast was. Maybe some snow, I dunno," Spot said. "Why'd ya leave Asia?"  
  
"My family was poor. They had nothing...we had nothing. I want some of those American opportunites people speak about. And not building railroad, like the Chinese in California, but real opportunity. That is why I first must travel to Greece, and get this ship there. The train....it took a long time. But I am here now, and happier than in Asia."  
  
Charlotte nodded. "Yes, American opportunities. I have heard a lot of stories about the famous, and infamous, New York City. Can you tell us about it?"  
  
"Yes, tell us something about the real city!" Lute chimed in.   
  
"Geez, you sound like a reportah foah Hearst or somethin'...awlright, lets see...New Yawk. Well, dere's a lot of people dere. Lots a' imm'grants like you ladies. But dey's mostly divided up...da Italians go ta Little Italy, da Chinese ta Chinatown, dere's a Irish district, I guess dem Scots go dere too...dere's Brooklyn, wheah I lived, lots a' rich people dere. Manhatten, wheah Sling lived, is right across da Brooklyn bridge. If ya go uptown, dere's vaudville stages, lots a' diff'rent types a' entertainment dere," Spot said, thinky fondly of his home. "Y'know, I t'ink Sling is right, I should get off at New Yawk...I kinda miss it now dat I t'ink about it. An' besides, I gotta see home my Brooklyn boys are doin'."  
  
"These areas for different people, are you forced into them?" Krystal asked.  
  
"Nah, a' coise not! America's a free country, dey can't foice ya ta do anythin'."  
  
"Good. So I want to live in Brooklyn like you, I can?" Krystal asked, obviously somewhat taken by Spot.  
  
Spot gave his signature smirk. "Yep, and I'll add dat Brooklyn is an excellent choice. It's gettin' kinda late though, and I'se gotta go clean up in da dinin' hall. May I escort you ladies to your livin' quatahs?"  
  
The three girls glanced at each other. "Sure," Charlotte said. After putting all the used dishes into the baskets, Spot led them to the ladder down to third class.   
  
"I'll hafta say good-bye heah," Spot said. "I hope you'se all enjoyed da food. Sleep well, watch out foah rats. Sometimes dey crawl into da hammocks."  
  
Lute gulped. "I hope not!"  
  
"Well, it's a good sign if rats are on board, it means da ship won't sink. I gotta get goin' now, it was nice meetin' all of ya fine ladies." He turned to Krystal. "Especially you," he said quietly to her. He shifted a plate in one of the baskets and hurried off to the dining hall. The girls all said good night to each other, and left for their own hammocks.  
  
Slingshot had left Spot again, and she was sorry for it. She paced to bow of the ship, the cool air keeping her senses alive, the beer bottle keeping cold and slowly emptying. How can he be back? Where'd he figure out I would be there? Why would he bother to look? These and other questions rushed through her head, swirling around too fast for her to figure out an answer.   
  
She read over the letter from Race and Mush again. Jack couldn't walk? Worse than Crutchy? This couldn't happen! She downed the rest of the beer and tossed the bottle into the dark Atlantic Ocean. Everything was becoming too complicated. She sat down, leaning against the cold metal bars to get some sleep. Shivering a little, she drifted off quickly. 


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week went quickly for Lute. She met a good many more people. The dark haired girl she had seen earlier was from Bohemia. The shawl she clutched so tightly was the only thing she had left that was her mothers', her house had been destroyed in a fire. Then there were a few others from Ireland. Joe and Grace Kiernan were also going to America for opportunities, as they were orphans. Another girl, 16 years of age, was called Strider, and was very quiet. Lute hadn't been able to get more than a few words out of her.   
  
There were a few other teenage girls Lute had gotten to know, all Europeans. A german, Kaitlin, was with her sisters. Kaitlin had been teaching Lute a couple of German songs, but Lute had a hard time with the accent. Gabrielle Montesqui was nicknamed Frenchy; her home being her namesake. She would talk to the girls on board, but when supper time came around and she was invited to eat with Spot "Ladies Man" Conlon, a shiver went down her spine and she declined.   
  
Spot wasn't working the lunch shift, and was able to come visit third class. This was the last day of the somewhat longer than expected 10 day journey; the first stop, Boston, had been just been left, and Spot wanted to have lunch with the immigrants he would probably never see again. The girls had gotten to know each other well, and most had nicknames. He had learned them easily, being the former leader of Brooklyn, he had always needed to learn names quickly.   
  
"Lute! Gip! Whisper!" He called down the ladder before he started climbing. The aroma of roast beef sandwiches soon filled the area, and the girls quickly came to Spot. "Lets see..." he started. "A sandwich each for ya t'ree, one fer Strider, Jemmy, and Holiday...oh Jem, can ya give dis ta Frenchy? Apocalypse, wheah is she?"  
  
The small Asian jumped and waved her arm so Spot could see her behind the other. "Oh, dere's my goil...heah, a special one for ya, extra beef."  
  
"Thanks, Spot," she said, happy with the food. "Did you bring milk?"  
  
"Nah, we'se all out and pickin' some up in New Yawk. So, did ya understand da directions I gave ya to da Brooklyn Lodgin' House?"  
  
"Yes, I think with Char-er, Holiday's help, I find it," Apocalypse replied.   
  
"Good." Spot said. "Is everyone fed? I mean, need anyt'in'?"  
  
Satisfied nods went about, even Ben was pleased with the sandwich he had received. "Awright, I gotta get back upstairs, toin in my uniform an' ev'rythin', if anyone sees Sling, tell 'er ta meet me in Battery Park, awright?"  
  
"I will tell elle," Frenchy replied, her brown eyes glancing up for a breif second.   
  
Spot nodded and climbed back up the ladder, leaving the others to pack what little belongings they had.   
  
"LOOK!!!!" Holiday yelled. "IT'S AMERICA!"  
  
A cheer went up from the crowd standing behind her as their first glance of America was the Statue of Liberty through a thick fog. Lute couldn't cheer, she couldn't say a thing. All she could do was grin from pure happiness and hug her father tightly.   
  
"Espy, do you have everything?" Holiday turned to Apocalypse, constantly checking up on her.  
  
"Yes. We arrive at Ellis Island soon?"  
  
"Yeah, ya will," Sling replied out of no where. "But ya will wait on da ship foah a while. Dey gotta get da cit'zens like me off foist, so we don't clog up da awready clogged up Island. So don't be in a rush ta get off."  
  
Lute turned to Sling. "You are to meet Spot in, uh, Battery Park? I believe that is what he said."  
  
Sling nodded. "T'anks. When a smallah boat takes ya ta shore, if you'se goin' to Manhatten then you'll arrive in Battery Park."  
  
Those listening nodded. The ship slowed down and turned slightly, manuvering itself into the docks of Ellis Island. Looking to the Island, Lute saw children playing outside of a large building, the largest on the Island. Some men sat around reading newspapers, while ladies chatted. On the other side of the dock, which was more of a slit in the island, there were many more buildings, smaller brick buildings. A few people in sat in wheelchairs near the ocean. Lute guessed that that side contained the infirmiry. The ship jolted to a stop.  
  
"All Americans! All American citizens, please step this way!" A man in a uniform called out down the aisles. "Please have a passport ready. If you are unable to retrieve a passport, step in this line."  
  
Sling turned to Lute, and pulling out a pen, quickly wrote some directions. "Lis'n, if ya need help when ya get ta Manhatten, take South Street up ta City Hall. Dere's a bunch a' huge buildin's dere, dose are owned by Pulitzer an' Hearst an' uddah papah owners. Right outside City Hall is a statue of Horace Greeley. Dere's always newsies around dere, ask one a' dem where Cowboy is. Dat's wheah I'll be." She turned to Apocalypse. "Spot will be dere too, I'm pretty sure. If you have trouble findin' City Hall, look foah da Brooklyn Bridge. It's at da Manhatten end. Good luck!" With that, Sling departed, pulling out a passport from her bundle.   
  
Lute watched as Sling disapeared into the line of Americans, then turned back to her father. "We will be happy here. I can feel it."  
  
Surprisingly, Sling felt a breath of relief when she stepped onto the American soil of Battery Park. A newsie was at the docks, a very familiar looking newsie. Sling smiled to herself and headed over, pulling her cowboy hat down low so he wouldn't see who she was.   
  
"EXTRA EXTRA!" The boy yelled. "Buy a pape?" he asked as she walked up.  
  
Sling didn't look up, but instead grabbed the stack of papers from the boy, and started running, but stopped after a few feet.  
  
"HEY! GIVE DOSE PAPES BACK!" The boy yelled, without moving. Sling shook her head and walked back to him.  
  
"What have I told ya 'bout lettin' uddahs pick on ya, Crutchy?" Sling said, dropping the papers at his feet and raising her hat.  
  
Crutchy's jaw dropped. "You'se back! I don't believe it! We sent ya a lettah, but nevah dreamed dat you'd act'lly get it!"  
  
"Yeah, I got it. Is Cowboy doin' any bettah?"  
  
Crutchy looked down and leaned heavily on his crutch. "No. If anyt'ing, it's woise."  
  
"Is it true he can't walk?"  
  
Crutchy simply nodded. "It's funny, y'know. I'se gettin' less dependent on my crutch-I mean, I still need it, but I don't usually lean real bad on it-and da greatest leader in all a' New Yawk, evah, can't walk."  
  
"Greatest leadah evah? Darn, I always t'ought I was," Spot said, grinning, as he walked up."It's good to see ya, Crutchy."  
  
"Well, I mean, he was da greatest durin' da strike-er, greatest of Manhatten..." Crutchy trailed off.  
  
Spot laughed. "Well, what're we waitin' foah? I came back ta see Jacky-boy." Sling nodded in agreement, and picking up Crutchy's papers for him, started to walk up to the Lodging House. 


	4. Chapter 4

Spot grinned at the sign that hung crooked over the Lodging House's door. More than the original paint right above the door, Kloppman had taken on a project to make the Lodging House have a little bit of "class". The door creaked as he pushed it open.  
  
Sling had been dreading this moment. She knew her brother was at the Lodging House, and she knew Jack was not the same. Why did I come back? She wondered to herself as painful memories were stirred at the thought of her brother.   
  
Spot and Sling went to the front desk, while Crutchy limped over to get some food, where Kloppman was reading "Huckleberry Finn" for probably the millionth time. "Heya, Klopps, can we see Cowboy?" Sling asked, leaning on the counter the same way she always had.  
  
"Spot! Slingshot! You...you came back! Yes, Cowboy is upstairs, same bunk. I must warn you not to touch him," he said solemnly. Nodding, the they headed up the ricketly stairs.   
  
The Lodging House was a lot quieter than either one of them remembered. No poker games with Race screaming about who cheated were being played, Bumlets wasn't leading a swordfight, and none of the girls were sitting around talking. In fact, there was almost no one there. Spot walked into the boys' room and headed for Jack's bunk, where a girl with long golden-brown hair sat on a stool, leaning against the post of the bunk bed. Spot knew that if those eyes were open, they would be green. He had immidiately recognized her as his right-hand man's sister, Sneaks. He shook her a little to wake her up.  
  
"Sneaks! Wake up!"   
  
"Eh...what d'you want, snotfa-SPOT! What're you doin' heah!?" She asked, bewildered.   
  
"Had ta see Jack," Spot replied. He hadn't had the guts to even glance at his best friend yet. "How's Graft doin' in Brooklyn?"  
  
"He's takin' care a' you'se boys fine," Sneaks replied, shrugging. "How ya doin', Sling? You do know dat you'se got a bruddah heah, right?"  
  
Sling nodded. "Yeah, I just ain't gonna see him." She hadn't looked at Jack either. "How come you'se up heah all on your own?"  
  
"Someone's gotta change Jack's wrappin's..." She glanced at the wall. "It's about time ta again. Would you'se two mind doin' it? I really wanna go see Jake, help him sell some papes, y'know?"  
  
Spot glanced at Sling, who nodded. "Sure, we'll do it. Tell Jake heya foah me," she said. Sneaks said a quick good-bye, and left, leaving Spot and Sling looking at each other and the ground, scared to look at their dear friend. Sling finally took a deep breath. "We gotta help him, we gotta look at him."   
  
"I know...I just don't want ta ruin dat fine mental image I have," Spot replied. They turned to look at Jack.  
  
We have waited all day on board ship. They say that third class will be dealt with lastly, but hopefully tomorrow. A friend of mine, Strider, has taken ill. Spot told me how they don't always allow ill people into New York. I very much hope that all of us will make it to America's mainland together.  
  
Lute glance over what she had written in her journal for the day. Not much, but then again, not much had happened since the Americans had all left the ship. She hoped Spot and Sling had found their friend easily. She glanced once again at the directions Sling had scrawled, hoping they would make more sense when they got to "Battery Park".  
  
Apocalypse sighed and plopped herself next to Lute. "Writing again?"  
  
Lute smiled shyly. "Yes, I rather like to keep track of my voyage to America."  
  
"Well, we not there yet. Still must get through Ellis Island."  
  
"I know. Cheer up, it won't take too long! You'll see Spot again before you know it!" Lute replied, nudging her friend.  
  
Apocalypse nodded. "Not too long...Brooklyn, I wonder what it like."  
  
"I bet it's like London," Whisper said, sitting opposite Lute. "New York is a big city, after all, and Brooklyn is part-"  
  
She was cut off by a call down the ladder. "ALL THIRD CLASS PASSENGERS. PLEASE BRING YOUR BAGGAGE AND FORM A LINE TO ENTER ELLIS ISLAND."  
  
Excited glances were shared, and quick good-byes as family went to find family and baggage. A line was quickly formed, and slowly crawled up the ladder. Lute was about halfway through, with Ben. After close to an hour, the climbed up the ladder, across the ship, and down a slipper gangplank to step on land. Their first step on American soil.  
  
"Cowboy..." Sling breathed painfully. Open sores covering his body were unveiled by the wrappings. His legs, usually at least somewhat muscular even with the small amount of food he lived on, were bony and weak. His face was pale and sunken, and breath came lightly.   
  
Spot pulled off some more cloth that covered a leg, when Jack suddenly screamed in pain. Spot blinked to hold back tears, the result of seeing his best friend in so much utter pain.  
  
Jack screamed again as some more of the dressing was removed. He reached out to grab something...and ended up grabbing Spot's arm. "Make it stop..." Jack said, delirious. Spot looked at Jack's arm, covered in a yellowish cotton linen, and grasped it back.   
  
"C'mon Cowboy, you'se strongah den dis..."  
  
Sling, shaking, memories she'd worked so hard on blocking flowing back into her mind, the craving for alcohol growing so she could forget all of this...  
  
Another scream was heard. All this pain...and the doctor didn't know what to do. He didn't deserve it. He screamed again. The doctor said amputating a leg would stop the infection. It didn't.  
  
Shaking harder, Sling pushed memories out of her head. She wrapped Jack's sores tightly, knowing that it would help lessen the pain. A few minutes later, the screaming stopped, his grip on Spot's arm eased, and Jack came to.  
  
He blinked several times, his eyes focusing on what he had been holding. "Ss...Spot?"  
  
"I'se heah foah ya, Cowboy. You'se doin' bettah," Spot said, gulping.   
  
"Nah...I ain't...how long ya been heah?"  
  
"Not long. I brought a friend foah ya..." Spot nodded for Sling to come over to that side, so Jack wouldn't have to move.  
  
"Heya Cowboy," Sling said, trying to sound strong.  
  
"You...you came back. Both of ya came back," Cowboy said, struggling to sit up. "I asked...nevah t'ough it would happ'n."  
  
"Hey Cowboy, I gotta get ta Brooklyn befoah it gets late, gotta check up on me boys," Spot said. "I'll be back tamorrow."  
  
"Carryin' da bannah," Jack said.  
  
Spot smiled. "Carryin' da bannah." He quickly left.  
  
"Dey been treatin' ya well, Cowboy?" Sling asked, nervous.  
  
"Yeah...Kloppy an' da uddahs been watchin' me. I can barely move anymore, Sling. Two yeahs ago, I led a strike. And now I can't take a piss wit'out help."  
  
"You'll be fine," she assured him. "But you'll need a lot a' rest. If ya need anyt'ing, ask me."  
  
"Will ya stay?" he asked hopefully. "You jist...disapeared befoah."  
  
"I won't do dat again, I promise, spit-shake promise," Sling replied. "Get some sleep. I'll be heah when ya wake up."  
  
Jack nodded slightly, and quickly drifted off to sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

Land, actual land, felt good after almost two weeks on ship. There were so many people in the main building at Ellis Island, that many of the girls, whom had come from small towns or farms, were very intimidated. It was a little late in the evening, so the passengers were all lead to the cafeteria for supper.  
  
"Next!" A man serving a foreign-looking food called. Lute stepped up, holding out her plate. The man dumped some white strings with a red sauce on her plate. She quickly moved on, getting a cup of milk and an apple before searching out her friends.  
  
"Strider, have you any idea what this is?" Lute asked her fellow Irish friend, poking at the food with her fork.  
  
"I haven't any idea, but it's better than baked potatoes every night," Strider replied, taking a bite.  
  
Lute stuck her fork in the food and pulled up some of the strings, looking red from the sauce. After cutting them with her fork, she took a bite. "Oh wow, it's good! I think...the sauce, it tastes like tomatoes!"  
  
A few minutes passed and others joined the table, Whisper last. "I've had this, once before!" she said excitedly. "There was a restraunt in London, owned by an Italian lady. She called this 'spagetti'!"  
  
"Spagetti, eh? Interesting name, but good food! I've never had Italian food before," Gip said, enjoying the meal.   
  
When they had all finished eating, a woman who worked there showed them to a room on the third story, lined with cots and hammocks, three tall. Lyf's brother and Lute's father had been taken to the other side of the building, where the men stayed. One wall was lined with water basins, and a room down the hall housed crude showers. They would be awoken at 7:00 the next morning, the women explained, and taken to an examination room to see how healthy they were. If approved, they would be taken downstairs to the "main lines", where they would await further approval to enter America.  
  
Spot shoved his hands in his pockets as he crossed his beloved Brooklyn Bridge. It had hurt deeper than he wanted to admit to see Jack that sick and helpless. He paused in the middle of the bridge, remembering how he and Jack had started the tradition of yelling over the side. Lifting one boot-covered foot onto a ledge, then the other to lean over the bridge, he tried to yell. Nothing would come. He couldn't do it without his friend.  
  
Daniel Nicoll opened the swinging door to Rich's Bar and walked up to the counter to sit next to Racetrack and Snoddy.   
  
"What d'ya want?" The bartender asked him.  
  
"Ah, I'll take a whiskey," he replied and took off his brown newsie hat.   
  
Race turned to him. "Dan, I got dis tip tanight, a good one foah sure. Ya in?"  
  
Dan smirked. "Nah, I gotta save me money."  
  
"Shhh!" Snoddy said. "Moneybags is playing!" They turned to a corner of the bar that housed a piano.   
  
Ragtime music sooned filled the bar, a few people even got up and danced. A few minutes later Moneybags was finished with the song, and applause filled the air, for she was quite good.  
  
"How'd I do?" she asked Snoddy earnestly.  
  
"It was wonderful!" Snoddy replied with a quick kiss. "Here, sit down, I'll buy ya a drink."  
  
She nodded and took her seat. "No t'anks, Snod. Have any of ya been to da Lodgin' House dis afternoon?" The boys shook their heads. "Well, Dan...I guess it'll be a surprise, den."  
  
Dan raised an eyebrow. "A surprise, eh? I like surprises."  
  
"You might not like dis. Snoddy, can we go? Dat was my last performance of da night."  
  
"Yeah, it's gettin' late, we should awl be headin' back," Snoddy said, standing up. "You headed foah da tracks, Race?"  
  
Race shook his head. "Nah, couldn't raise enough money. Check da papes tamorrow, dis time I prob'ly woulda won."   
  
Dan laughed. "C'mon, I wanna find out what dis 'surprise' is!" The four newsies walked two short blocks to the Lodging House. The lights were on inside, though most of the newsies were sitting outside. A few of the boys smoked, and a few girls talked, but for the most part they were all quiet.  
  
"How's Cowboy doin'?" Race asked, to no one in particular.  
  
'Ponine looked up at Race, her green eyes shining in the lamplight. "Go upstairs and check foah yourself. Or, bettah yet, send Dan up."   
  
Dan shrugged. "Alright, I'll go check on him." He was halfway up the stairs before Sneaks caught up to him.  
  
"DAN! You can NOT go in dere! Don't go see Cowboy right now!" She said quickly.  
  
"Why not?" He asked without stopping.   
  
"Cause, uh, he's asleep! Yeah, we don't want no one ta wake him up, either!"  
  
Dan reached the boys' room. "I'll just see if he's still breathing, okay?"  
  
"Nah, how 'bout I check? I'll be quieter than you," Sneaks replied desperatly. "You know how I'se can sneak around!"  
  
"I'm just gonna poke my head in," Dan said, turning to walk in towards Jack's bunk.  
  
"No! Stop! You don't-" Sneaks stopped when Dan stopped walking.   
  
"Frankie?" He asked quietly, taking a slow step forward.  
  
Sling looked up quickly. "Dat's not my name anymore!" She grabbed her slingshot and a marble out of her pocket, lightening-fast, and shot Dan in the knee. He buckled over in pain, and by the time he looked up again, Sling was gone. 


	6. Chapter 6

"Your name?" The doctor asked. He lifted an eyelid to examine the eye. White spots in the eye were a sign of disease.  
  
"Grace Kiernan," Lyf replied, a bit uncomfortable.  
  
"Any family with you?"  
  
"My brother, Joe. Does he have to have a health check too?"  
  
"Yes, everyone does. You're Irish?"   
  
Lyf nodded. The doctor checked her heart rate and mouth, looking for infection. "You look good to me. I'm signing the health visa. Give this to whoever you talk to for train tickets, so he knows you're healthy. Good luck on finding your brother!"  
  
"Thanks," Lyf responded. The doctor had been nice enough, but she didn't have any idea where to find her friends or Joe. She didn't really have a choice where to go-Sling had been right. Ellis Island was made up of lines.   
  
  
  
"When ya gonna stop runnin'?" Sneaks asked her friend over a couple of drinks. "Ya ain't gonna leave, are ya?"  
  
"I would if Cowboy was alright," Sling responded, sighing. "Why'd Dan come back? It ain't fair for him ta be heah."  
  
"C'mon, no one likes deir bruddas. Look at mine! He's so protective I ain't allowed ta tell anyone my real name! Not ev'n Jake. An' I can't do anythin' wit'out his say-so."  
  
"Yeah, Graft should lighten up," Sling agreed. She looked up to the clock on the wall. "Crap, it's after two. Kloppy won't be happy."  
  
"Cowboy used to come back dat late. It ain't a big deal," Sneaks said. "Though Graft pro'l'ly won't like da fact I'se out dis late."  
  
"Forget what Graft t'inks, what can he do?"  
  
"Moah den you t'ink," said a voice from behind the two girls.   
  
They turned around quickly. "Heya Spot, back from Brooklyn awready?" Sling asked, surprised.  
  
"Nah, I didn't go...didn't cross da bridge," Spot replied, fingering the gold tip of his cane. He looked back up. "But me boids are still woikin', an' I hoid somethin' 'bout a little incident in your Lodgin' House dis evenin'."  
  
Sling shot Spot a glare. "It was Dan's fault."  
  
"Yeah, an' I bet he shot hisself in da knee wit' his imaginary slingshot," Spot mocked.   
  
"Shut up Spot. You ain't got a bruddah ta complain 'bout," Sneaks said.  
  
"Nope, I guess I'se lucky. But I do know one t'ing, and dats dat Sling, if you'se don't get back to da Lodgin' House soon, Cowboy'll fall back asleep disapointed."  
  
"Why didn't ya say he was awake soonah?" Sling said, slightly irritated. "Oh no...I promised I'd be dere when he woke up. An' I wasn't...it's Dan's fault. If he hadn't shown up-"  
  
"Put a lid on it Sling, I t'ink I liked ya bettah when ya didn't talk much. You an' Sneaks both, go home. Act'lly, I'se comin' with ya, not goin' ta Brooklyn. Let's go," Spot said, taking charge as usual. "An' Sneaks, I don't want ya out dis late again."  
  
  
  
`"Lyf! Over here!" Her brother, Joe, called and waved his arm. She hurried over to find Joe with Lute, Ben, Apocalypse, and Holiday.  
  
"What are we waiting in line for?" Lyf asked.  
  
"See those counters up there?" Lute pointed to the front of the large hall. "Once you reach there, you have to prove you know what kind of job you can get and support yourself. Tell them you have money in your pockets, even if you don't. And then, if you're approved, they'll sell you train tickets. If you're just staying in New York, you won't need train tickets."  
  
"Well, you're informed, aren't you?" Holiday said, teasing. "I'm excited. If we're approved, we can leave today, right?"   
  
"Yes," Ben said, "Though they'll let you stay another night if it's late."  
  
Apocalypse sighed. "We be lucky to reach the counter if the line doesn't move much."  
  
"We will be lucky" Holiday corrected. "Don't worry about it, your English is great."  
  
The line slowly moved, and an hour or two later-they weren't quite sure of the time, for no clock was in sight-Lute and Ben reached the counter.  
  
"Health reports, please," the attendent, a young man, asked. Glancing them over, he asked a series of questions.  
  
"Do you have a place to stay?"   
  
"Yes, we recieved an invitation from an American on board ship. We, and these young ladies, and gentleman, were told of a Lodging House that would put us up," Ben replied thoughtfully.  
  
The attendent nodded. "That's good. Job skills?"  
  
Ben grinned sheepishly. "I was a bartender in Ireland for a while-I suppose I could take that up again. Otherwise, I worked at the docks in shipping."  
  
"Hmm...well, I suppose that's good enough. And do you have any money?"   
  
Ben nodded. "When I get to the City, can I exchange it for American money?"  
  
"Yes. You must go to a bank that takes, I assume, Irish money. I'd recommend somewhere close to Battery Park-which is where the steamboat will take you to shore-because a good number of immigrants pass through there. Do you need train tickets, or are you staying in the city?"  
  
"We'll be in Manhatten, thanks," Ben replied.  
  
The attendant stamped "approved" on the health reports. "You can go. Down the stairs, stay to the right, and the dock will have a sign for New York. Take the next steamboat, if you can. They run until about eight o'clock tonight, which is in two hours."  
  
Ben nodded a thanks, and Lute, who had wisely stayed quiet, were allowed passed the counter, to the "stairs of seperation". The nickname came from the fact the the stairs were divided into thirds, dividing people by destination. Ben and Lute waited at the top for the rest of the group, and about half an hour later, all were approved and sent to the docks.  
  
  
  
Jack moaned in pain again. "Mush, help me up, please..."  
  
Mush shook his head. "I ain't s'pposed to, Cowboy."  
  
Wincing, Jack pushed himself to a sitting position. "So ya ain't list'nin' ta me anymore?"  
  
Mush's expression said more than his words. He wanted to help his leader, who had always been a brother to him, there in times of need...but he couldn't. "Cowboy, you can't get up. And ya know it."  
  
"But haven't I always told ya dat you can do whatevah ya want to, if ya want it bad enough?" he responded with obvious effort. He gripped the bedpost with his pale hand, mostly covered in a layer of cotton, and pulled himself to the edge of the bed. "Jist help me up, Mush."  
  
"Fine, I don't want ya ta hoit yaself," Mush replied, sighing. He put his arm around Jack's shoulders to lift him up. Jack closed his eyes in the pain of putting weight on his legs. "Ya alright?"  
  
Simply nodding, Jack clenched his jaw, and removed his grip from the bedpost. It ended up to be too much for him, and before Mush could help, Cowboy fell back onto the bunk, breathing heavily and gripped with sadness. "Why can't I walk, Mush?"  
  
  
  
Spot had watched from a few beds over, to Jack's back. Sneaks was there, leaning on Jake, and in shock was Sling. Spot looked at his friends with him, and decisively walked over the Jack's bunk, sitting down next to his friend. "You will be able ta walk again Jack. We'se all heah for ya," he said, gesturing for the others. "But foist ya gotta rest. Ya gotta let da rest of ya heal, an' not push yaself to hard. An' ya gotta eat, Cowboy. Ya haven't eat'n in t'ree days. Ya won't get bettah if ya don't eat."  
  
"You'se right, Spot, but I can't eat. I get sick if I do," Jack said, his face showing the pain he was in. "Dis is gonna kill me, why don't ya jist admit it?"  
  
"'Cause we ain't gonna let it kill ya, Cowboy," Sling said, stepping forward.   
  
Jack scoffed. "What d'you know about it? About bein' healt'y an' off da streets. As long as you got your alcohol you're happy."  
  
Sling bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah, you're right 'bout da drink, but I seen what ya had before. I wish I hadn't. Still got no idea what it is, t'ough."  
  
Spot sat quietly, looking at the ground and thinking. In one swift movement he was standing, with cane in hand and pointed at Sling. "Dan-he ain't your only brudder! When ya came ta New Yawk, back befoah da strike, ya had anuddah one. What happened ta-oh." Realization hit Spot.  
  
"Yeah, I had anothah one," Sling said quietly. "He didn't make it...he had whatevah you got, Jack, but he had a bad doctah. We ain't lettin' some scab like dat near ya. You'se strongah. Jist wait, you'll do better."  
  
Jack laid back down, wincing again. He didn't say anything, and neither did anyone else. Sneaks left with Jake a few minutes later, and Mush went over to his bunk to sleep. Spot and Sling decided on shifts to watch Cowboy, assuring that someone would always be there in case he needed them. Jack watched while they worked out the schedule, still exhausted from the earlier conversations. "Spot," he said quietly, "I t'ink I can try eatin' now." 


	7. Chapter 7

A "ping" sound was heard as small balls of hail hit the metal railing on the small boat. Made to accomadate as many people as possible, the boat had almost no protection. Fortunatly, it was a very short ride, only about fifteen minutes, to Battery Park.   
  
"Look!" Holiday pointed, as the hail started to turn to rain.. "There's a newsie, he should know how to get to the other newsies."  
  
The group of immigrants headed over to him, while he was very hopeful every one of them wanted a paper. "Penny a pape," he said, shoving his black hair out of his face.  
  
"We don't have any American money," Ben apoligized for them.   
  
"Do you know a newsie called Spot?" Holiday asked.  
  
"Depends who'se askin'," The newsie replied, handing a paper to a young business man.  
  
Lute sighed, hoping not all the newsies were so dodgy. "I'm Lute, this is my father, Ben. We met Spot on the ship from Ireland. He was working as a waiter."  
  
"Spot? A waitah?" The newsie laughed and wiped some raindrops from his face. "Well, pleased ta meetcha Lute. The name's Bumlets." He turned back to Holiday. "An' what's your name?"  
  
"You can call me Holiday," she replied with a grin. "So, you do know Spot?"  
  
Bumlets shifted his small stack of wet papers from his left to right arm. "Yeah, I know him pretty good. Why d'ya need ta know?"  
  
"I am Apocalypse...Espy for short. Spot told me to go see his newsies in Brooklyn when we got here. Can you take us there?"   
  
"He told the rest of us to go to a lodging house in Manhatten. Actually, a girl, Slingshot, did," Lute said. "Do you know what she meant?"  
  
Laughing, Bumlets replied, "A' coise I know what she meant! I live dere! I'll take ya dere, I t'ink I can sell da rest on da way up."  
  
"And Brooklyn?" Espy asked hopefully.   
  
"I ain't goin' ta Brooklyn, Graft is almost as bad as Spot was. But I'll tell ya how ta get dere. All ya gotta do is cross da bridge, and wheah da rest of us is goin' is awful close."  
  
They set off towards uptown- the rain finally subsidign- Bumlets walking up South Street, just as Sling had suggested to Lute. On the way he sold the rest of his papers, mostly to business men on the way home from work. A very tiring three-quarters of an hour later, the Manhatten end of the Brooklyn Bridge appeared right in front of them. Across the street was City Hall, and a statue of Horace Greeley.   
  
"Awright Espy, jist cross da bridge, take a right, and about a block down you'll prob'ly see some guys swimmin' or sittin' around playin' marbles. Ask foah Graft, say you'se a friend of Spot's. Dey'll take ya to him. Graft'll know wheah Spot is," Bumlets said. "Sorry I don't know, he was heah earlier, but I t'ink he wanted ta get back ta Brooklyn."  
  
Apocalypse looked at the long bridge uneasily. "Well, maybe I will see you tomorrow," she told her friends.  
  
"Good luck," Holiday said, nervous for her friend. "Are you sure she'll be safe, Bumlets?"  
  
He nodded. "As long as ya say ya know Spot, nobody'll mess wit'cha."  
  
Nodding, Apocalypse lifted her sack of belongings once again, and set off across the bridge. The others watched her for a moment, untill Bumlets cleared his throat.  
  
"Our lodgin' house is dis way," Bumlets said quietly, "Only 'bout t'ree minutes from heah. Let's go."  
  
"He was right when he said he couldn't eat," Sling remarked. The sounds of food not staying down came from the bathroom, where Jack and Mush were.  
  
"I dunno what ta do ta help him anymoah," Spot said, laying down on an empty bunk. "He's just gettin' woise. He knows it an' we know it."  
  
"So what're ya sayin'?" Sling asked, dreading the answer.   
  
"I t'ink...I t'ink we need ta call in Preachah," Spot said quietly, standing up again. He slapped the foot hanging off of the top bunk. "Hey Blink! Wake up!"  
  
Blink turned over, mumbling incoherantly as he pulled on his eyepatch. "What? Is Cowboy okay?"  
  
Spot ignored the question. "D'ya know wheah Preachah is?"  
  
Kid Blink's one eye widened. "Uhh...Friday night...he's prob'ly outside a' Rich's Bar, tryin' ta teach da newsies about the dangahs of alcohol."  
  
Had the mood been lighter, Spot would have laughed, but he had only a hint of a smile on his face as he nodded. "T'anks. C'mon Sling, we gotta find him. Mush can stay wit' Jack while we'se out."  
  
Sling and Spot left in a hurry, while only a few moments later, Bumlets led the group of immigrants into the front room of the Lodging House. 


End file.
